


We Only Come Out at Night

by explosionshark



Category: Scream (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, F/F, Major Character Undeath
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 08:12:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8438071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/explosionshark/pseuds/explosionshark
Summary: “You’re dead,” Emma says. She can’t think of anything else to say.Audrey’s brows furrow and she nods haltingly after a moment, like she’s puzzling out a problem. She works her jaw a bit, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth and biting down before releasing it with a pop. “Okay. Okay, you’ve got me there.”-Emma should have known Audrey was too stubborn to stay dead.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a gross monster Audrey oneshot for Halloween, but this one kind of got away from me so now it'll be multi-chaptered! I plan to wrap it up in about 4 or 5.
> 
> Thanks and love to [Hannah](http://archiveofourown.org/users/OpheliaMarina/pseuds/OpheliaMarina) for helping me plot this one out and for looking it over for me.

It’s not peaceful, coming back.

It feels like waking from a nightmare, but she can’t remember any of the details, just that she was scared. She lurches up, her forehead and her hands smacking into something soft but solid above her, limbs flailing out futilely with nowhere to go. It’s dark and cramped and she has no idea how she got here.

She remembers who she is and where she’s from. Audrey Jensen, 17, a senior at George Washington High in Lakewood, Louisiana. She remembers her friends and her family. She remembers things she likes and things she doesn’t. She’s a movie buff, she hates string beans, she once got detention for holding Mike Bavaro’s head in a trash can after he tripped Noah in the halls. All the essentials. Everything but something that could help her figure out what the fuck is going on.

She thinks maybe she’s gone blind, because she can’t see a thing. Audrey lifts her arm up and runs a hand past her face and she can’t make out any details but she’s pretty sure she senses the movement. Wait, is that seeing or feeling? She passes her hand across her face again and again and again and she’s still not sure if she’s seeing it move or if her brain is anticipating the motion and filling in the blank spots and she can _feel_ herself begin to panic. And she can’t panic right now because wherever she is, it’s enclosed and shut tight, which means her air supply is limited and she _needs_ to be able to breathe to figure this out.

Only, she realizes suddenly, she hasn’t taken a breath this entire time.

Audrey drops her hand back down at her side, it lands with a soft thump. _Soft._ Audrey closes her eyes (she thinks) and runs her palm up and down the material beneath her slowly. It feels… velvety.

She raises her hand to her neck, finds the knot tied under her chin and follows the cloth down to the tip of her tie.

_Shit._

Well, at least they hadn’t buried her in a dress.

X.x.x

The first thing Emma sees when she opens her eyes is Audrey.

And she’s not afraid, she’s had this dream before.

Audrey’s sitting at the edge of Emma’s bed, turned away, her face all in shadow. It’s dark, hard to see anything, but Emma knows it’s her. She can feel it.

“Hey,” Emma says, surprised by the scratchiness of her voice. She reaches out brushing her fingertips down Audrey’s back; it’s damp, which is new. It feels sandy. She wipes her dirty fingertips off on the bedspread and scoots up on her elbows to see better. “I missed you.”

Audrey doesn’t say anything. She never does. Emma misses her voice so badly. It’s crazy, she never thought of a voice as something she would miss about someone, but there are times when Emma would kill just to hear Audrey complain about the TV or make that sound she makes when she stretches out on the couch.

Emma slides her hand forward, feeling her way up the bedspread until the tips of her fingers bump into the side of Audrey’s hand. Audrey, the shape of her anyway, tenses in the dark. Emma waits. After a moment Audrey shifts her hand, palm up, and Emma locks their fingers together. She’s cold. Her hands feel grimy, slick. Emma tries not to wince or pull away, afraid of making the wrong move that will end the dream, take Audrey away from her again.

“Emma,” Audrey says, finally. _Finally._ Emma forgets herself, forgets the rules of the dream and sits up, reaching out. She catches herself when Audrey ducks away from her touch, tugging her hand out of Emma’s grip. “Don’t freak out, okay?” she says as she turns.

That’s when all the warning signs, all the unsettling details of the dream kick into place and she realizes she’s having a nightmare. Audrey’s wearing the suit she was buried in, covered in dirt. There’s blood all over her face, down her shirt and when she leans in Emma can see bits of flesh and fine, short hairs stuck around her lips and neck like gory cookie crumbs or gross effects makeup.

Emma screams.

“Fuck!” Audrey hisses, scrambling across the bed. Emma tries to get away, but she’s too slow, tangled up in the blankets and she only makes it halfway off the bed before Audrey’s on top of her and they’re sliding down to the floor. It’s almost comically slow, but Emma’s terrified, trying to struggle out of Audrey’s grip. She’s no stranger to fucked up dreams but why _this_ , why _Audrey_ , why _now._ “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Dude, _please_ , be quiet.”

Audrey looks helplessly around the room, reaches for a pillow and stops halfway before slapping her filthy palm across Emma’s mouth. Her skin’s cold and clammy and it tastes like copper. Emma gags and pulls back but Audrey’s strong and persistent. Emma kicks out, catches Audrey in the side, which she obviously didn’t expect; her grip slips and she leans away. It buys Emma enough time to reach up for the lamp on her end table. She brings it down against the side of Audrey’s head hard enough to hear it crack, but not shatter.

The sound is _awful_ and the force rattles her wrist, but it _works._ Audrey rears back, sliding on her ass toward the other end of the room, cradling her face in her hands. “Fuck, _shit_ , Emma, that hurt. What the _fuck._ ”

Emma just wants to wake up.

“This isn’t real,” Emma says, forcing herself up on shaky knees. She almost wishes she had grabbed something other than the lamp because it’s dark as hell in here and she’s not about to cross the to other side of the room to hit the light switch.

Audrey just keeps swearing and holding her face. She tries to rise to her knees when she notices Emma standing, but Emma takes a menacing step forward with the lamp in her hands again and Audrey falls back onto her ass. “Okay,” she rasps. “Okay, Emma, _please_ , put that thing down.”

“Why,” Emma asks her. It. “Why are you here? Why like this? _Why_?” And she realizes she’s crying.

Audrey drops her hands from her face and Emma can see her more easily with the light from the window shining in. Beneath the blood and the dirt, it’s still Audrey’s face staring back at her: her blue eyes, her straight nose, her wide jaw.

“Emma,” Audrey’s voice is low and cautious, it’s the voice she used to talk Noah down when he got too wound up about some conspiracy theory. “Emma, please put that down. I promise I won’t hurt you.”

“You’re dead,” Emma says. She can’t think of anything else _to_ say.

Audrey’s brows furrow and she nods haltingly after a moment, like she’s puzzling out a problem. She works her jaw a bit, sucking her bottom lip into her mouth and biting down before releasing it with a pop. “Okay. Okay, you’ve got me there.”

“Okay. Okay?!” Emma repeats, incredulously. She drops the lamp. “I’ve got you there? You’re dead! You’re here!”

Audrey shrugs.

“What the _hell_ is happening?” Emma shouts. Audrey winces and Emma lowers her voice. “Is this a joke?”

Audrey shakes her head.

She can’t be dreaming. There’s no way she could have made it this far without waking up. She still tastes the copper in her mouth from Audrey’s gross hands, and the ache in wrist feels real enough.

“Are you a ghost?” she asks.

  
Audrey snorts, rising tentatively to her knees, watching Emma’s face carefully for permission. “I don’t think so. Pretty sure the lamp thing wouldn’t have worked.”

Emma winces, feeling guilty, confused. “Audrey, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know yet,” Audrey says. “I don’t know, I just-- I woke up. And I came here. And I swear I’ll tell you everything, but I need your help.”

“With what?”

“I’m filthy,” Audrey says, looking sheepish for the first time as she gestures down at herself. “And I’m fucking starving.”

X.x.x

Audrey doesn’t need Emma to lead her to the bathroom to get cleaned up, but by the shudder in her breath and the tightness of her grip around Audrey’s wrist, she gets the feeling Emma might need Audrey to let her. So she does.

“Do you need…?” Emma trails off, hovering in the doorway after fishing a clean towel out of the hall closet for Audrey. She’s staring at Audrey so intensely that it’s uncomfortable, especially now in the harsh white light of the upstairs bathroom. Audrey caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror a second ago. She looks _rough._

There hadn’t really been much time to consider appearances, between kicking her way out of her own coffin and trying (and failing) to resist the siren’s song of the possum carcass she’d stumbled across on the four mile trek from the cemetery to Emma’s house. But now that she’s  _here_ and Emma’s staring at her _like this_ , she’s starting to really regret just rushing in without thinking. She’d really scared the shit out of Emma earlier, she realizes, guilt gnawing at her. And no wonder.

But there’s not really any fear in the way Emma’s looking at her now and weirdly that makes Audrey feel worse. If it wasn’t for the frantic path of her eyes up and down Audrey’s body (head, shoulders, torso, feet, legs, waist, face, repeat) and the way she kept twisting her clasped fingers together in front of her, she’d barely even look nervous. Mostly she just looks captivated. Like, she almost _can’t_ look away. Not scared, not suspicious, just _intent_. Almost reverent.

It feels all wrong.

Because the longer Emma looks at her, the more exposed she feels, the more aware of how she got here. There’s no room here for Emma’s reverence, not with the dirt from her own grave still thick under her fingernails, not with the taste of roadkill still in her mouth, not with some animal’s guts still stuck to what used to be her best shirt.

“Need what?” Audrey asks, desperate to disrupt the staring, to prompt Emma into doing anything else.

“Uh, help,” Emma says, wincing a little. “Do you need any help? Getting cleaned up?”

Audrey can barely stand Emma’s eyes on her body right now, she doesn’t _know_ what Emma’s hands would do to her. She stares guiltily at the stripe of grime she’d smeared down Emma’s mouth earlier in the bedroom and shakes her head. “No, I’m good, can you just get me something to eat?”

“Right,” Emma nods, smiling with her mouth closed like she does when she was embarrassed. “Of course.”

The door shuts with a soft click. Audrey waits for the sound of the creaky step near the bottom of the staircase before she locks the door and turns to face the mirror.

It’s actually worse than she’d assumed. Her hair’s a mess, sticking up all over the place. She’s _pale_ , eyes sunk in with bruise-like smudges beneath them, lips looking cracked and stuck together with blood. God, the entire bottom half of her face is _covered_ in blood, going up almost as high as her ear on the right side. Flecks of flesh and short, coarse grey hairs pepper her chin and mouth, she notes with grimace. She looks like something out of a Romero flick; no wonder Emma had flipped the fuck out.

Aside from that, she’s covered pretty much head to toe in dirt. She’d tracked it through the whole house, she was sure. The last time that had happened, Maggie hadn’t let her leave until she’d showered and drove her home in Emma’s too-big, too-pink clothes, lecturing for the whole drive and then some. It had felt like an _eternity_ parked in her driveway with Maggie going on about _responsibility,_ and _respect for other people’s property_ , and _good manners._

Audrey flicks the faucet on with a frown. A lecture is the least of her worries right now.

She doesn’t really have time to take a shower. She feels like she’d have to soak for a week and a half to get clean anyway, and Emma wasn’t her most patient friend even under the best circumstances. Besides, her roadside snack hadn’t done too much for her. She’s still so hungry her stomach _aches._ To be fair, everything kind of aches right now, but most of the pain is a dull background roar compared to the screaming buzzsaw in her guts.

Audrey slips out of her suit jacket and and lays it out along the edge of the tub, hoping to at least minimize the amount of cleanup she and Emma will have to do. She returns to the sink and freezes rolling up her sleeves when she first sees the wounds. Winding, puckered cuts disappearing beneath the linen of her button-down.

Audrey strips bare to the waist. She’d just wanted to roll up her sleeves to wash her face and hands but when she saw the first hints of the long, winding cuts marking her arms she’d had to investigate them further. She almost wishes she hadn’t.

The Y-incisions on her torso are the most startling, even though they’re the most explainable. An autopsy. Someone had cut her open and gone fiddling around in her insides, she realizes queasily. She leans into the mirror, prodding the stark, utilitarian stitches scoring her body. She looks like a human fucking baseball. She pushes in harder, pressing her nails along the seams but the ache is dim, a shadow of a feeling.

Gritting her teeth, she moves on, turning her attention to the rest of her wounds. There’s a really gnarly scar low on her belly; ugly, artless. The kill wound, she would guess, but it’s just that, she has no way to tell. Maybe she’s just assigning extra importance to it because it’s so inconsistent to the rest of the damage. There are these marks… carvings, really, up and down her arms, scoring her collarbones, her sternum, some along her belly. The designs are intricate, deliberate. Some are almost beautiful, the work of a skilled hand, but she notices that most of them start smooth and devolve into messy, jagged chaos.

What the _fuck_ had happened to her?

X.x.x

It takes ages for Audrey to come downstairs. Emma tries to keep busy. She makes a sandwich. She sweeps up the dirt Audrey left in the foyer. She makes another sandwich. She listens for the sound of the shower and hears nothing. She talks herself in and out of going to check on Audrey a half dozen times. She cuts the sandwiches in half. Diagonal. Like Audrey’s mom used to.

She’s washing the knife again after impulsively de-crusting the sandwiches when she hears the bathroom door open upstairs. She starts, dropping the knife with a harsh metallic clatter in the sink and dries her hands on the dish towel by her head, hurrying back to the table.

Audrey comes shuffling in, bloodstained dress shirt untucked and unbuttoned, face and hands scrubbed clean. Now that the dirt is gone, Emma can see how sickly she looks, how pale. She presses her palms down hard into the table to stop herself from rushing across the kitchen. Knowing that there’s nothing she can do doesn’t curb the urge to do _something_ at all.

“Hey, sorry, I know this is weird, but,” Audrey says, flicking off the lights, and trudging forward to slump into the chair across from Emma. The lights in the foyer are still on, so Emma can see around the room, but Audrey’s features are harder to make out. “The light’s just been killing my eyes.”

“It’s fine.” Emma bites her lip as Audrey angles her head down toward her plate. She makes no move to eat. “It’s bologna,” Emma says, drumming her fingers along the table. “We didn’t have much in the way of lunch meat and, uh, well… is something wrong?”

Audrey had taken a tentative bite but seemed to be having trouble swallowing. “No, no. I just. I can’t….”

Emma’s heart sinks; she stretches across the table to pull the plate to her and begins disassembling the sandwiches. “Look, it’s just bologna and mayo and - is it the mustard? We’ve had it for a bit, I guess, but it’s still good, I used it this week and--”

Audrey coughs a chunk of sandwich up onto the table. “Ugh, sorry, I just,” she grabs the glass of apple juice Emma had poured for her off with shaking hands and tips it back, then promptly spits it back out across the table. “ _Fuck.”_

“Audrey?” Emma can’t keep the note of panic out of her voice, slipping around the table to place a hand on Audrey’s shoulder. Audrey shudders and kicks away from her, chair skidding along the floor, nearly toppling over onto the tile. Her face is twisted up like she’s in pain, hands clutching at the sides of her stomach.

Audrey shakes her head at Emma and lurches to the fridge, flinging it open hard enough to make the condiments in the door rattle. She sinks to her knees, leaning in and rummaging around furiously.

She gets to the rib eyes, first. Four steaks, mom had bought them for a barbecue they’d been planning before everything went to hell. Audrey holds the steak up to her face with both hands and bites into it like an oversize cookie, teeth cleaving through the meat and the fat without any trouble at all. Emma’s never seen a person eat this way. She tears into the meat with a brutal efficiency, heedless of the mess she’s making, the blood dripping down her chin, hardly slowing down when she gags and chokes on bites too big. The first steak disappears in less than a minute. The second and third follow shortly after.

Audrey does finally slow when she’s halfway through her fourth and final steak, pivoting on the balls of her feet to reach back into the fridge. She comes out with a half-full pack of bacon that she promptly tears into when she chokes down her last mouthful of steak.

“Oh, sorry,” Audrey mumbles through a mouthful of raw bacon. She swallows hard and clears her throat, angling back towards Emma and proffering the bag. “Uh. Want some?”

“... _No_.” Under normal circumstances Emma might be embarrassed to hear her voice pitch that high but _actually_ , right now, that’s the least appalling thing about this situation. “No _, Audrey_ , I _don’t_ want a handful of raw bacon.”

Audrey grimaces, nodding slowly and Emma can see bits of meat stuck between her teeth in the light of the open fridge. “This is weird, isn’t it?”

“Uh, _yeah_.”

Audrey frowns. “Well, uh, look if you don’t want any then I’m just gonna…?”

Emma waves her on and heads off to find a mop.

X.x.x

The sandwich was a fine attempt but the roadkill incident had been a huge red flag. Audrey had been half-expecting something like this to happen. If there’s one thing she’s learned from years of watching horror movies in Noah’s garage, it’s this: no one rises from the dead and just pops back into their old life. You lose some things. There’s an adjustment period. Sometimes you find out the only thing you can eat is raw flesh. It happens.

All-in-all, Emma takes the whole ‘ravenous consumption of raw meat’ deal pretty well. Even better than she took the whole best-friend-rising-from-the-grave-and-showing-up-in-your-bedroom deal. No dramatic appliance-swinging this time around, she just waited until Audrey finished and set about cleaning up.

Working together, it doesn’t take long for the two of them to get the house back in order. It feels almost normal, trailing after Emma with a bottle of multi-surface cleaner and a handful of paper towels. It’s easier to focus on a full stomach and the bone-deep soreness she’d woken up with is almost entirely gone.

The haze of normalcy lasts until they end back up in Emma’s room with nothing left to distract them from the situation.

“Wait, so you just… woke up?” Emma’s got the look on her face she used to get when she’d beg Audrey to describe scary movies for her, before she got brave enough to watch them herself: desperate to know more, but anxious to hear it. “And you dug yourself up and came here?”

Audrey nods, lining her thumbnail up between her teeth and biting down gently. Well, she goes for gentle and accidentally shears straight through it. She winces and changes the angle so she can chew the rest of the nail down evenly.

“Did it- quit that,” Emma interrupts herself to lean across the bed and swat Audrey’s hand out of her mouth. “Did it hurt?”

“No,” Audrey rolls her eyes. “It didn’t even bleed, I didn’t bite it that short. You totally overreacted.”

“It’s a gross habit, Audrey, and that’s not what I meant,” Emma says. “Did it hurt when you came back to life?”

 _Is_ this life? She’s not breathing, she doesn’t have a heartbeat. She _is_ walking and talking and functioning more-or-less normally, that aside. This probably isn’t the best time to ponder the technicalities of the situation, though.

“No, not really.” Maybe it should have. This whole thing feels a lot more surreal and a lot less dramatic than it looks in the movies. She flicks her gaze back up to Emma’s face looking for suspicion or alarm but Emma only seems relieved.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Emma asks. “Do you know who did this to you?”

Audrey rakes a hand through her hair, frustrated. This is where it where things go from complicated to _obnoxiously_ complicated. “There _is_ no last thing I remember. Like, nothing specific.”

“But you know who you are and who I am and everything?”

“Yeah.”

“That makes _no_ sense.”

“I’m sitting on your bed and talking to you and _I’m dead_.” Technically. She thinks. “Sense already went out the window!” That she’s confident in, at least.

“Come on, _try_ ,” Emma pleads.

And she _has been_ but she does again because Emma asks her.

“I don’t know,” Audrey rolls her fists into her thighs until she hears her knuckles crack. Emma flinches but Audrey isn’t deterred. It’s been a stressful night, she’s earned at least one gross habit. “Uh. The Econ homework sucked?”

“It sucks _every night_ ,” Emma groans. She draws her bottom lip into her mouth and chews once, twice, slipping from frustrated to cautious. “Do you remember leaving the party?”

“There was a party?”

Emma’s expression kind of crumples in on itself. Audrey doesn't know what to do, what this means, but she feels like an asshole for being the one to put that look on Emma’s face. Audrey covers Emma’s clenched fists with her hands, works her thumb into the center of her palm until they’re holding onto each other instead. “I’m sorry.”

Emma stares at their hands. “It’s okay.”

Audrey’s not sure what to say anymore. She’s glad Emma hasn’t pulled away. “Tell me about the party.”

Emma’s quiet for a long time and when she does speak, her voice is almost too soft to hear. “It was at Brooke’s. For Halloween. It was the last time I saw you.”

Emma gives her a brief summary of the events of the party. Audrey’s surprised to hear that she’d brought Gina as her date, less surprised to hear it apparently hadn’t gone well enough to warrant a second date. “So, if I told her I didn’t want to see her again, is there a chance…?”

It seems unlikely. Gina always struck her as more the stalk-you-on-Facebook type than the kill-you-in-the-woods type, but maybe she shouldn’t be so quick to judge.

“No,” Emma shakes her head. “Her roommates were there when you dropped her off. The police ruled her out pretty early on, she had an alibi all night.”

It’s technically good news that her boss didn’t kill her after their bad first date, but Audrey can’t help but feel frustrated by the lack of leads. “So, no one knows who might have done this to me? There are no suspects?”

Emma shakes her head.

Audrey hauls herself off the bed, pacing to the window, the anger simmering low in her belly threatening to boil over. She feels restless, destructive. It’s not _fair._ This is a fucked up thing to happen. It’s fucked up to hear about a night she can’t remember, no matter how hard she tries. It’s fucked up to wake up dead and find out that no one knows how or why it happened or who did it. It’s fucked up to hear that tremble in Emma’s voice and know it’s meant for _her_ but not be able to fix it.

“Where are you going?” Emma hops out of bed and follows her to the window, voice frantic, catching Audrey’s elbow in a tight grip. Audrey focuses on the prick of Emma’s fingernails through her shirt instead of the rage coursing through her. She imagines Emma’s nails digging deeper, piercing the skin, letting all that anger and ugliness seep out of her like a tire deflating.

“I should go,” is all Audrey can say, because she isn’t quite sure how to answer Emma’s exact question. Where does an undead abomination go to blow off steam? First instinct and near encyclopedic knowledge of horror plots says to exact bloody vengeance on those who have wronged her, but that won’t be an option until she does Lakewood PD’s job for them and solves her own murder. What else, then? Wreaking havoc on unsuspecting townfolk seems like the next most obvious option, but Audrey’s relieved to find she’s not feeling aimlessly murdery. Yet.

“You can’t,” Emma says.

“Well, what am I supposed to do? Stay here with you?” Emma raises her eyebrows like _‘of course.’_ “Emma, I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s dangerous!” How does she not see that? “I’m officially one of the living dead! What if I try to eat your brains?”

Emma has _no_ right to look at Audrey like _she’s_ the one being ridiculous. “You won’t.”

“You can’t know that!”

“ _You_ can,” Emma points out. Then, “Audrey, do you _want_ to eat me?”

She flushes bright red and loosens her grip from Audrey’s sleeve, arms falling to her sides.

Being zombified still sucks _so hard_ overall, but at least lack of bloodflow helps with looking perpetually unruffled. As long as she can keep her expression blank.

“I mean, like, my brains,” Emma clarifies unnecessarily. God, please let it end. “Like, do you feel like-- Are you hungry--?”

“No,” Audrey cuts her off, relieved that it’s the truth. And thank god for that. She ate about half a cow earlier, and if that wasn’t enough to fill her up, she’s not sure what she would have done. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not dangerous.”

“I’m not scared of you,” Emma says. “I never have been.”

Audrey eyes the lamp, now plugged back in on the end table beside Emma’s bed. “Could have fooled me.”

Emma winces. “I’m sorry about that.”

“I’m not,” Audrey admits. Knowing Emma was capable of defending herself was definitely worth getting beaned in the head with a light fixture.

“Audrey, the last time you walked away from me, you didn’t come back.” The crack in Emma’s voice sucks all the tension out of Audrey’s body. Emma takes a few steps backward and sinks down onto the bed and Audrey finds herself following, draping a tentative arm across Emma’s shoulders. Emma leans into the touch with a sniff, pressing her warm forehead to the cool skin of Audrey’s neck.

“I came back,” Audrey whispers, turning until her lips brush the top of Emma’s head. “I’ll always come back.”

“You can’t know that,” Emma says.

 _Death couldn’t keep me away from you_. The words sit on the tip of Audrey’s tongue, but she can’t push them past her teeth. She rubs her cheek against Emma’s hair and waits.

“Stay,” Emma says again, finally.

“Okay,” Audrey agrees. She never did know how to say no to Emma. “Okay.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> validate me here and on [tumblr](http://explosionshark.tumblr.com/)


End file.
